


The Revival of Mallory

by Starboundwanderer



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: F/M, Southern Gothic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starboundwanderer/pseuds/Starboundwanderer
Summary: Mallory has always been odd, ever since she was a child.  As she grows up in rural Louisiana, she dreams of a strange man, and one day, he appears in the flesh.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little one-shot that wouldn't leave my head.
> 
> Also, for those who may not hail for the southern part of the USA, a Revival is a very scary event that involves tents, snakes, and a lot of praising.

  Mallory could remember hot summer Sundays spent in the revival tent.  The muggy air clung to her skin and her hair became damp because of the humidity.  Her father would swat at her and her siblings if they started to nod off, so they all made sure to pay attention to the preacher’s rantings and ravings. He'd get passionate every single Sunday, but Revivals were a special occasion, and he would be shiny with sweat and red with heat.  He'd always frightened Mallory with his zeal and fervor; he seemed almost unhinged to her.

  The snakes were especially unnerving, though her father claimed it was proof that they were conquering Satan. 

  "The Snake is evil," he'd say to them at dinner, slamming his fist down in his passion.  "And evil can be defeated, but it requires absolute faith.  Do you understand me?"

  He'd been looking directly at Mallory.  She had nodded mutely, not even looking to her mother for help.

  This time when he the snakes came out, the whole tent was on their feet, arms reaching skyward and mouths whispering their prayers to God, all while the someone plunked out a hymnal on the out-of-tune piano.  She stared at a dandelion growing up between where her feet were planted.  It seemed to offer some serenity in the chaos around her.

  “You!” the preacher shouted.  He pointed his meaty fist at her; the other hand had a rattler curled around it.  “Come up here, child!  Let us see your faith in the Lord!” 

  Fear made her limbs numb.  She immediately wrapped her hands around her mother’s arm and clung for dear life.  When he saw she was reluctant to go up, her father roughly grabbed her and practically threw her in the aisle.   

  She stood there, all of twelve-years-old with the congregation staring at her, and shakily walked forward.  When she reached the altar, the preacher grabbed her shoulder, and she felt so small.  He pushed her towards the wicker baskets.  He’d already put his snake into a different basket near the giant wooden crucifix, which she looked at and said a silent prayer that this would end--that someone would come and save her.  The pianist played lively music that sounded tinny to her ears. 

  “Put you hand in, child!  Let us see that God has blessed you, the innocent!” 

  “No, please—” 

  “Go on, go on!  Ye who are sinless have nothing to fear!  Nothing at all!”  He gripped her wrist, thick fingers overlapping.  Her heart pounded as he shoved her hand into the basket, and the congregation was silent enough for her to hear the rattler’s tail as it started shaking it.  She felt it brushing her fingertips and winding around her wrist.   

  She yanked her hand out, a scream building in her chest.  The snake bared its fangs to the congregation, hissing and spitting.  They all went wild, cheering and praising God that she was unharmed, protected by the Lord.  Mallory desperately tried to shake it off, tears building in her eyes. 

  “You are a blessed child of the Lord!”  He grabbed her arm and forced it towards the sky.  She felt the tears falling down her cheeks now, and she looked to her parents for rescue.  Her father was beaming, eyes closed and hands held upwards.  Her mother was on her knees, hands clasped and lips moving as she whispered her prayers.  Her siblings all stared in awe.

  “Let me go,” she said, voice thick with tears. 

  No one heard her over the roar and excitement of the group.  The preacher shook her arm roughly, the motion nearly making her knees buckle. 

  “She is proof that the Lord will provide and that Satan will not win!  Light defeats darkness; good triumphs over evil; we shall—ahhh!”  He let go of her hand as the snake sank its teeth into his arm, untangling itself from her and wrapping around his. 

  Mallory stepped back, eyes wide as the snake struck again.  The preacher tried to yank it off, but the snake bit him again.  As he fell to the floor, screams so loud that Mallory covered her ears, the snake gave one last hiss.  It turned towards the church members and glared at them with its strangely intelligent eyes before slithering off under an opening in the tent. 

  They all stared at her.  They had such fear in eyes, fear that would never truly go away. 

 

  The preacher died that day.  Mr. Robbins had driven him to the hospital, but he’d died anyway.  The whole town talked about her.  The odd one.  The devil’s girl.  The witchy child who’d cursed the good-hearted preacher and killed him. 

  No one would sit with her at lunch, and even the teachers were wary around her.  The old folks clutched the crosses at their throats and quietly recited bible verses when she walked by.  Even her parents and siblings were distant from her. 

  It made her an introverted child who wandered the woods at odd hours.  Her friends were the crickets and swamp breeze.  Her entertainment was swimming in the creek and chasing butterflies.   

  “Lonely child,” she heard once when she was halfway asleep in her hammock under the willow tree.  It seemed to be coming from the very earth itself.  “You reek of sorrow and sadness.”

  She thought she was dreaming when she saw a tall, lean man with curly blond hair leaning over her.  He looked like a grown-up but something about him made her feel like he was her age.  He gazed at her thoughtfully before walking away into the dense woods.  She chased after him, thorns tearing at her dress hem and twigs tangling in her hair.  She didn’t know why she was chasing after him; she only knew she wanted to find him. 

  When she reached her front porch, out of breath and with muddy feet, her mother came out and stared.  It was then that she realized it wasn’t a dream; she had been chasing someone.  When she told her mother that, she said she’d been running after spirits. 

  “Are you a witch, Mallory?  Did my little girl sell her immortal soul?” she asked through tears. 

  “Mama, no, I swear it!” 

  “Then why do these things keep happening?  Why?” 

  “I don’t know.”  Mallory ran up to the porch and clutched at her mother’s dress. 

  “I don’t know either.  All I know is that I won’t have you bringing evil into this household.  Your grandmother is coming to pick you up, and your things are packed.”  Her mother pulled her dress away and walked into the house.  She heard the click of the lock sliding to place. 

  “Mama!”  She ran and slammed her fists on the door, tears streaming down her face.  “Mama, please!” 

  But to no avail.  An hour later her grandmother was pulling up, looking solemn. She loaded up her granddaughter and the various suitcases before they took off down the road.  She stared at the house in the rearview mirror until it faded from view, somehow knowing she'd never be back there. 

  

  Years passed and she grew like wild honeysuckle—beautiful and sweet.  She still had to go to the same school and deal with the same small-minded people.  But something about it was easier when she had her grandmother’s cottage, deep in the Louisiana woods, to return to.   

  “Mallory, you are not evil.  You’re special,” her grandmother said one day after the other kids had tried to dump their lunch trays on her.   

  “They call me a witch.”  She stirred the soup on the stovetop.  

  “Don’t listen to them, Mallory Jane.  An angel told me you have a destiny.”  

  Destiny.  She wondered what that meant.   

  "What if I'm evil?"

  "Evil does exist, but it's certainly not anywhere in you, my sweet girl."  Her grandmother kissed her forehead.  

 

  "Freak!" her classmate yelled at her.

  "I didn't--"  

  "Just stay away from me!"  

  She hadn't meant to do it; she really hadn't.  But the girl had come up and behind her with a full trashcan and the intention of dumping it on her head, and Mallory had just reacted.  Before she understood what was happening, her classmate was on the floor, back to the wall and the trashcan on her head.  Mallory hadn't so much as touched her, and those who'd seen it happen claimed she'd thrown her back with some sort of supernatural power.  

  "Witch," she heard a boy whisper.  "She's definitely a witch."

  "Maybe I am," she spat at him, tears in her eyes.  "And maybe you should all just leave me alone!"

  She stormed out.  The heavy double doors slammed shut behind her just as the last bell of the day rang.

 

  That night she was visited by the same man she had been five years earlier.  It had been a long time since she'd see him, but she'd thought about him often.  He looked practically the same, but was...wiser and more mature.  She knew she looked different—there was a big difference between twelve and seventeen. 

  He was standing in the corner of her bedroom, moonlight making him look eerie and beautiful. 

  “Who are you?” he asked quietly. 

  “Mallory.  Who are you?” 

  “Why do I keep seeing you in my dreams, Mallory?” 

  She frowned at him before throwing the covers off.  She strolled over to him, cocking her head to the side and looking him up and down. 

  “Who are you?” she repeated when she was toe-to-toe with him.  He was quite beautiful. 

  “Michael,” he answered, voice tight.  He stared at her for a moment, seeming to just take her in.  “What are you, Mallory?” 

  She shrugged.  “What do you mean?” 

  “You’re obviously not a human, so what are you?” 

  She took a step back, suddenly more wary of him.  “And you’re not a human?” 

  He gave a slow, deliberate smirk.  It made her skin tingle for reasons she didn’t understand. 

  “Not exactly.” 

  “Then what—” 

  But she woke up before she could finish the question.  Her heart pounded and her breath was short.  She looked at the spot she’d dreamed he was in and had a strange sensation of being watched. 

   

  He appeared to her more often after that.  Some nights she watched him appear in the misty fog, and they ran towards each other, but could never seem to cover any ground.  Sometimes they were in a beautiful building with white walls, and they spent hours talking to each other. 

  "I was raised by my grandmother," he told her one night when they were in the house.  "Both my parents died."

  Playing cards were on the table between them.  She was teaching him how to Crack Jack, and he was catching on quickly.

  "I guess I was too.  My parents kicked me out when I was twelve."

  "What for?"

  "They said I had darkness in me."

  He snorted.  "If only they knew what true darkness is."

  "And you do?"

  He looked up and met her gaze.  His eyes were a piercing blue, almost frightening in their intensity.  She'd only seen eyes like that in the waking world once, and her grandmother had said they were devil blue because only the devil could have eyes like that.  

  He gave her a half smile.  "It's hard not to know it when it _is_ you."

 

  Other times, the dreams felt more like nightmares.  The world burned around Michael as he stood on a pile of ashes, a smile on his lips and his eyes pitch black.  The worst dream was the one where the sky was red, the ground dead and cracked, and Michael sitting on a black throne.  He beckoned her forward with a twitch of his fingers.  She was powerless to resist as she stepped forward, the dry earth sticking to the soles of her feet. 

  He extended his hand to her, palm-up, and stared at her with a vulnerable hope in her eyes.  She stood with her hand halfway to him, long white dress blowing in the warm wind. 

  “Please,” he whispered.  “You were born for this.” 

  And she felt in her soul that he was right.  She took his hand, and he pulled her into his lap.  She put her knees on either side of his thighs and hands on his cheeks.  His hands rested on her waist.   

  “Michael.”  She ran a thumb over his lips, and he shuddered beneath her. 

  She leaned down and kissed him hard.  He crushed her to his chest, and she wound her hands in his hair. 

  She didn’t realize that the world around them was bursting to life again. 

 

  By the time she was twenty-one, he had become her constant companion.  She knew he wasn’t a dream; she knew they were special.  He'd taught her how to hone her powers, and she didn't have anymore outbursts.  She was never accepted in the town, but that was okay--she only needed acceptance from two people in her life.

  The day she waiting tables at Maude’s Diner and he walked through the door, she wasn’t surprised. 

  "My angel," he said.  His voice was clear above the noises of the diner. 

  She only smiled as she walked over to meet him, taking her apron off as she did.  The diner was silent as they all observed the sight, somehow knowing something beyond their own humanity was happening.  No one stopped them as they walked out the door, the lovely witching girl hand-in-hand with the boy whose beauty was sharp and smile was dangerous. 

 

  “I dreamed of you almost every night,” he whispered to her.  “Even the nights I don’t think you realized I was there.  In that strange time before we could talk to each other in the dreams.” 

  His lips were pressed to her spine, arm around her middle.  He rubbed his thumb in circles on her stomach.  The cicadas, crickets, and bullfrogs were singing them a peaceful song from outside the walls of Mallory’s house—her grandmother had died two years prior and left everything to her, which was one of the reasons she hadn't left.

  “I feel like I've been waiting for you,” she told him.  She rolled over to face him.  Moonlight streamed in from the open window, white gossamer curtains blowing softly in the autumn breeze.  He looked like an angel, but she better.  She'd known for a while now.

  “You’re so beautiful.”  He tucked her hair behind her ear.  “You were made for me, and I was made for you, Mallory.  And we were made to start this world again.” 

  She smiled and softly kissed him.  “Exactly.” 

 He moved so that he was on top of her, elbows braced on either side of her.  He gave her a long, slow kiss like they had all the time in the world. 

   

  They spent their days tangled up in each other.  No one in town questioned them after a while, and they became a local legend.   

  Some said she was an angel and he was a demon.  One rumor said she was a witch and he was her slave, forever trapped under her spell.

  No one suspected the truth, that they were chosen to be the beginnings of a new world.  They were picked because they were the balance--Mallory the daughter of a heavenly creature and a human, Michael the son of a being of darkness and a human.  Together, they would survive when the world crumbled, and together they would breathe life back into it.  

  Together, they would end the world. 

  Together, they would rebuild, Mallory the Queen and Michael the King, as they were always destined to be.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's POV from the first chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm waiting for my Benadryl to kick in, so I apologize if anywhere near the end it starts to make less sense.

  The first time Michael saw her he was outside playing.  He was swinging under the oak tree, the gritty Texas dirt getting blown into his hair and onto his skin.  His grandmother was inside cooking up supper when he heard a familiar noise—a rattler.

  They were common in the part of Texas he lived, but he wasn’t scared of them like everyone else was.  He had always felt they were his friends somehow, so he jumped up excitedly when he heard its song.

  He searched behind the tree, in the backyard, and even in the rosebushes, but found nothing.  Then he heard a soft crying.  It sounded like a little girl, and it made tears well up in his eyes.  

  “Hello?” he called out.  “Is someone there?”

  Then he saw them.  They appeared semi-solid near his tree, a beefy man and a crying girl.  He ran towards them, but when he tried to touch the girl, his hand went through her.  She looked up at the big man in pure fear.  Michael’s blood boiled.

  He stood and stared the man in the eye.  He knew he couldn’t touch him, but the snake wrapped around the girl’s arm was a different story.

  “Help her,” he commanded, knowing it could hear him.

  A second later the snake sank its fangs into the man’s arm.  He screamed and let the girl go, but that wasn’t good enough.

  “Again,” he told it.  And it bit him again.

  He knew the man would die, and felt he deserved it.  As the snake slithered away, the vision, along with the girl, faded.  

 

  The next time he saw her she was sleeping in the embrace of a tree.  This time he’d been transported to her in some way.  He stepped close to her, desperate to look closer.  She was about twelve, he thought.  But what did he know about mortals’ ages?  He looked closer to sixteen than his actual age of ten.

  “Strange,” his grandmother had said when she’d walked in to find he’d grown into practically a man’s body overnight.  “Very strange.”

  But she’d only lit up a cigarette and carried on with her day.  Michael hadn’t figured out what was so strange about it until days later.

  Now he looked down at the girl’s peaceful face, thinking she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.  He wondered if she was lonely like him.  She was sleeping in the swamp, surrounded by nothing and no one.  He spent his days plodding around in the Texas heat, not a person for miles except his grandmother, so he knew loneliness like an old friend.

  The girl opened her eyes.  He felt a rush of panic.  Unsure what to do and knowing he wasn’t ready to speak to her, he ran.  The rocks should’ve cut his feet, and the briars should’ve caught on his clothes, but none of this happened.  He was soon standing in front of his home as if nothing had happened.  

  “You look affright,” Constance said from the front porch swing.  “Did something happen?”

  “Yes,” he told her as he moved to sit next beside her.  “I saw a girl.”

  Constance said nothing.  She kept gazing out at the endless horizon.  She took a long drag of her cigarette.

   “Michael, do you know how special you are?”

  He shook his head.  His grandmother put a tender hand on his cheek and gave him a soft smile.

  “You’re going to change the world, my boy.  A demon told me so.”

  “A demon?”

  “Yes, he came to me one night and said you were one half of what was to bring the world to ruin and then birth it again.”  She stood with a sigh, grabbing the near-empty glass of bourbon from the porch rail.  “But do me a favor when you bring it back?”

  “W-what?”

  “Get rid of this damn heat,” she told him.  “Make it so that it’s only perfect weather.”

  Unsure what else to say, he only whispered, “Yes, Grandma.”

  It was years before he saw her again.  By then, his mind had far outgrown his body.  He looked barely older than twenty but had a mind far beyond that age and more brilliant than any humans.  

  And yet he was still caught off-guard when he found himself in a teenage girl’s bedroom.  And she looked rather surprised to see him too.

  She had grown, her face more angular and her body less childish, but it was the same girl.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Mallory.  Who are you?”

 His heart beat so loudly he feared she’d hear it.   He’d thought about her name and come up with various ones he thought suit her, but had never truly been able to decide what could possibly fit her.

  “Why do I keep seeing you in my dreams, Mallory?”

  She frowned at him before throwing the covers off.  The sudden movement startled him, but he didn’t show it—he even kept a nonchalant face as she strolled up to him without a trace of fear. She tilted her head to the side and looked him up and down as if he was a painting in a museum.

  “Who are you?” she repeated when she was so close to him that he could see the freckles on her nose and cheeks.  She was ethereal in the moonlight.

  “Michael,” he told her, unable to keep the strain out of his voice.  His shoulders were tense as she stared at her.  She was like him...and yet she wasn’t.   “What are you, Mallory?”

  She shrugged.  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re obviously not a human, so what are you?”

  She took a step back, eyes filled the unease so many around him felt.  “And you’re not a human?”

  He gave a slow, deliberate smirk.  He saw her fists tighten.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what—”

  But then he woke.  The sun hadn’t even risen in Texas yet, but he knew it had wherever she’d woken up.

  He saw her every night after that.  Most times she didn’t even seem to realize he was there; it was as if he was observing her, which made him feel creepy.

  Then she started noticing him.  The dreams were actually prophecies, filled with him reining destruction down on earth, Mallory an onlooker to the carnage.  But he did always convince her to join him, told her it was her destiny to sit at his side and revive the earth.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked her gently one night when they were in the white building that he thought was purgatory.  The chess board between them sat untouched tonight, as she had seemed so distant.

  “I hurt someone,” she confessed.  Tears welled up in her eyes.

  He went to her and wrapped his arms around her.  He didn’t particularly mind hurting people, but he knew it was against her very nature.

  “I’m a monster.”

  “No,” he said firmly, taking her face between his hands.  “You’re not.”

  “But--”

  “The fact that you feel remorse means you’re not a monster—a truly dark thing would revel in the pain and sadness, not regret it.”

  She lightly grabbed his wrists.  Her bottom lip was trembling, and he wanted nothing more than to take her pain away.

  “How do I control what I am?” she whispered.

   _You don’t,_  he wanted to say.   _You set it free to scorch the earth of those who’ve ruined it and wronged you.  You are a vengeful angel in every right._

  But he didn’t say that, knowing he was the vengeful, destructive one.  Instead, he said, “I can show you how to control it.”

  “Really?”  

  He nodded.  “Yes.  But you have to do the one thing that I know you’ll have trouble with.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me,” he told her with a wicked gleam in his eye. 

  He spent many of their shared nights teaching her.  She was a fast learner, but powers like theirs were unstable, especially with strong emotion.

  Like when Constance died.  Michael lost control and caused a horrific dust storm that coated the windowpanes and shut down the electricity in town.  He buried her during the storm, under the oak tree.  When he sat there crying, the wind stopped and it began to rain instead.  

  And it poured until nearly the whole town was washed away.  He had nothing here anymore, not without his family.  So he went after the only other person he cared about—Mallory.  He didn’t need to ask where she lived because it was as if their souls were tethered and he was following a string to her.

  When he burst through the diner doors and saw her in the flesh, his skin lit on fire and his heart pounded.  There she was.  His angel.  He almost wished the patrons of the diner, the people who’d alienated and hurt her for so many years, could even begin to understand what they were.  But it was best if they didn’t, he knew.  

  When he pushed open the door to her bedroom, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her like the world was ending.

  But perhaps with the two of them together, it finally was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one-shot that won’t die. And I can’t promise that I won’t add on to this because who knows honestly?

Mallory felt soft lips on her back while a warm hand slid over her waist to tug her roughly back. She smiled as she rolled over to face Michael.

“Good morning,” he whispered to her.

“The sun hasn’t even come up yet. Does it really count as morning?”

“You were already awake.”

“How could you tell?”

“You weren’t snoring anymore.”

“I do not snore.” She gave him a playful hit on the shoulder. He laughed.

“Then, my dear, what exactly is that noise you spend all night making?”

“You must have me confused with someone else who shares your bed.” She raised her eyebrows at him and had a teasing flint in her eye. But Michael’s face lost all jest.

“There’s no one but you, angel. Only you.”

She tended to forget that he lost all sense of humor when it came to her and their relationship. She had been a lonely, sad child, but Michael had grown up so secluded that part of him truly believed her when she joked about loving others.

She kissed him, quick and chaste. “I know, my love.”

His eyes still held a bit of uncertainty, but he got out of bed and held his hand to her. In the half light of the sun starting to break the horizon, he looked ethereal.

“Come on. I have something to show you,” he told her.

She took his hand and stood, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders as they left the bedroom. She let him lead her through their small house and out onto the back porch that overlooked the forest and swamp.

“What’s going on?” she asked, eyeing Michael as he leaned against the rickety railing.

He only lifted his hand and motioned her forward. Rolling her eyes at his quiet dramatics, she complied. He turned them so they were faced towards the swamp, the rail pressing into her stomach. He was behind her, and he put one hand over her eyes and wrapped the other around her waist.

“Just trust me,” he whispered against her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine and made her let out a small gasp. She knew he noticed because he laughed softly. She put her hands over the one on her waist.

For a few moments they stood there, wrapped in each other, listening to the sounds of some creatures waking and others retiring for the day. Then Michael took his hand away.

She was blinded by the brilliance of the sunrise. It painted the skies in vibrant pinks, bright reds, and soft oranges. Every color seemed enhanced to an almost painful degree, and she felt tears welling in her eyes, both in awe and hurt. She felt as if she shouldn’t be looking at this, like it was something meant for a creature of greater status than her.

“A friend told me this sunrise would be special. Just for you. Happy birthday,” Michael told her. His voice rumbled in his chest, and she felt it against her back.

She wasn’t surprised by him anymore. He was more connected with his inhuman side than her and regularly conversed with both angels and demons as though they were his friends.

“This is...”

“Breathtaking?”

She shook her head. “More than that.”

“I told them to make it look like your soul. When they asked me what that looked like, I told them it was indescribable beauty. It was painful to look at it in its glory, to be laid bare before such divinity.”

“That’s how you see me?”

“No. That’s how you are.”

Tears fell down her cheeks. They stood in silence as they watched the sunrise to the end. She turned and kissed him. He seemed a bit surprised by her reaction but quickly returned the kiss with fervor.  
She broke the kiss. Both of them were breathless, chests heaving and adrenaline rising.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, pressing her forehead to his.

“I’d give you the world.”

She lowered herself from her tiptoes, and looked up at him with a grin. She pushed one of his blond curls behind his ear.

“You will.”

He returned the smile. While hers held a shade of darkness, his was like staring into a sky that was about to release a hellacious storm.

“And you’ll give it back to me,” he said.

 

The earth was dead, the sky sickly green. No plant was alive, no animal or human untainted. As she walked through what used to be her hometown, she felt a growing sense of grief for the world and humanity. Her throat was tight and tears rolled down her face in anguish at the destruction.

She walked down Main Street, past the empty cars and broken storefronts, until she heard someone whispering her name.

“Mallory,” the wind whispered. “Save us.”

“I don’t know how. Please tell me how.”

“Help us. Save us, Mallory.”

“Just tell me what to do!” she pleaded. She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands, her sobs uncontrollable now.

Then strong, warm arms wrapped around her, and Michael gently said, “Shhhh. It’s okay. We’re going to fix this.”

She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “I don’t know how.”

“I’ll show you.”

And then they suddenly weren’t in town anymore—they were in a field, dead with the horrible scent of rot burning her lungs. They were still on their knees, Michael behind her with his arms the only comfort she found.

He moved his hands from her waist and grabbed her hands, pushing them beneath the hard, broken earth. She hissed as it packed under her fingernails and a rock broke some of the skin on her palms. She felt the blood seeping into the earth.

“Now,” he said, mouth right next to her ear, “bring it all back. Give it the redemption it doesn’t deserve.”

“If it doesn’t deserve it, then why bother?”

“It’s your purpose. Just as mine was to end this wretched world, yours is to heal it. Make it better.”

She felt her magic burning in her stomach. It moved upwards through her veins like fire, finally pushing itself through the dirt. A pulsing silver light seemed to emanate from her hands, still buried.

Her eyes widened as green began to spring up. When she looked at the field, trees came to life; a deer wearily got to its feet; she could hear a stream somewhere near them singing its song again. She looked skyward and saw the putrid green was giving away to blue. She didn’t notice the blood starting to run from her nose, but she did notice how light-headed and shaky she suddenly was.

She tried to pull her hands out, but Michael held her wrists firmly there.

“Michael, let me go,” she mumbled.

“I can’t do that.” His voice sounded pained, but she couldn’t turn her head to look at him.

“Why not?”

“This story—of two people destined to meet and cause great things, of one soul in two bodies— doesn’t have a happy ending. We were born with tragedy in our blood and sorrow in our bones. We don’t get to see this world for what it becomes.”

She tried desperately to push him away, to pull her hands free, but she was becoming weaker and weaker. Soon, she couldn’t even hold her eyes open. She passed out, Michael still cradling her, and listened as her own heart beat for the last time.

She sat up gasping. Sweat covered her and made the sheets stick to her, but it wasn’t all because of the summer heat. She threw them off and ran to the window. She almost cried when she heard the sounds of the swamp so alive and peaceful. The world hadn’t ended; she and Michael were still okay.

“The nightmare again?” he asked blearily from the bed. The floorboards creaked as he made his way to her. She spun and threw her arms around him. The breath was knocked out of him by the force of her, but he still wrapped his arms around her and smoothed her hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We get a happily ever after.”

She’d told him exactly what happened in the dream, how they died together every single time. She feared it was a premonition, but he told her time and time again that wasn’t the way it all went. Yes, she’d be weak from restoring the earth, and yes, he’d be there, but neither of them would die.

“We’re immortal,” he’d said to her after she’d confessed her dream the first time. “Our blood won’t let some overexertion of magic kill us; it’ll take a lot more than that to even injure us.”

Now, he simply comforted her, knowing his words didn’t give any real solace and that she had to calm herself down.

“I know we do,” she told him, still clinging to his torso. “I know.”

“And the day you have to revive the earth is a long way off, despite what it seems like.”

“How do you know?”

“I have it on good authority. Your father, actually.” She heard the smile in his voice. Her father was the archangel Gabriel, and his father was the archangel Michael, who’d fallen sometime after Lucifer. They both agreed it was stunningly conceited for him to have named his only child after himself.

“Why can’t you just tell me the date?”

“I don’t even know it. Immortal beings don’t run on mortal time; all they know is that it’s so far away that twenty generations of mortals will have lived and died before we’re called upon.”

She sighed and looked up at him. He was only doing his best, and she understood that. Now that she was calm enough to convince herself it was a nightmare, a concoction of worrying too much and recent thoughts of how much responsibility was truly on her shoulders.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“And I won’t let anything happen to you either. We’re in this together, whether you like it or not.” She gave him a small grin and moved her hands to rest on his chest. The shaking had finally subsided.

“I like it a lot because I love you. You’re the only friend I've ever had, angel.”

“I love you too. From now until forever.”

She kissed him, moving her hands to tangle in his hair.  She had always been different and had thought she’d never have a friend, much less a soulmate.  And here he was, so devoted and caring. 

She loved him with every kiss, every touch, every glance. 


End file.
